


Carols and Pomegranate Seeds

by potentiality_26



Category: Identity (TV)
Genre: Christmas, F/M, Mythology References, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-23
Updated: 2017-12-23
Packaged: 2019-02-18 16:40:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13104261
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/potentiality_26/pseuds/potentiality_26
Summary: If Martha had trouble letting go of things, John had trouble hanging on to them.  He was so used to getting burned, turned away, discarded when he was no longer useful, and he had learned that that was considerably easier to stomach if you let it happen.  If you didn’t try to fight.  But Martha... she made him want to fight.She brought to mind a reversal, if that was possible, of the myth of Hades and Persephone.  Her above ground, in the light and the sun, making things grow, making things better.  Him below in the dark and the cold, in the shadow of death.  And then she saw him, and something made her want to reach down and pull him up so that he could be with her on the surface.  So that he could sit in her garden with bright-stained lips and let his bones get warm.John reflects, and pays Martha a visit.





	Carols and Pomegranate Seeds

**Author's Note:**

> This was largely inspired by Martha's reaction to Tessa's line in "Chelsea Girl" about divorced parents currying favor, but then it spiraled into John character study territory. 
> 
> Not Brit-picked.

Martha’s parents split up when she was twelve.  John wasn’t sure if the others knew that about her.  Maybe it was there from the beginning- in a file somewhere that Tessa found or Anthony read or Jose skimmed over- or maybe they looked into it after what she said while they were looking for Jane, maybe something in particular got them curious. 

Or maybe he was the only one who knew.

John didn’t normally do a lot of research.  When it was for a case and he remembered that he could, John did sometimes pull up a file- but for the most part he relied on instincts, his reads on people.  His instincts were usually right, after all, and he had been far too long in a situation where waiting around for more concrete information could get him killed.  But in his team’s case he made an exception, especially with Martha.  From the first time she came to him, wanting him for her new unit, Martha had been unusually hard to put his finger on.  Tessa, Jose, even Anthony... their expectations were easy enough to meet, for better or worse- but Martha was different.

What she most wanted him to be was the one thing he wasn’t entirely sure he could manage.  Himself.

So he did go digging- looking for what he only half knew.  Something that would help him understand her, maybe- or maybe something that would prove she wasn’t as good as all that.  Something that would remind him why he had become so disillusioned with the police to begin with, that would help him remember how they used you and cast you aside like a bit of crumpled rubbish the moment their bottom line was threatened.

If he was looking for that, he was disappointed.  Because he found-

He found that she was exactly what she seemed.  Smart, hard-working, tougher than she looked but not quite as tough as she wanted to be.  With a thread of hope running through her that the world hadn’t yet managed to pluck out. 

Her parents were both professors.  Her father taught courses on mythology, a fact that led John to think of myths a lot around her.  He was willing to bet that they were close when she was a little girl.  _Daddy-daughter thing_ , he thought, and snorted inwardly.  It wasn't that exactly, but he couldn’t see her being closer to her mathematician mother.  Martha was never quite as neat or logical or structured as her bosses would like; John was willing to bet it was that way when she was growing up too.

At any rate, no attempts to “curry favor” appeared to have been made after they split up- Martha was shipped off to live with her grandfather, an aging copper, and couldn’t have been too unhappy because she eventually followed in his footsteps and joined the police herself.  Still, she must have felt very alone at times.  Must have blamed herself- as children too often do- for what happened.

Maybe that was why she had so much trouble letting go of things now.

He had been thinking about it in circles- about her, about letting go, about old myths- as he did a bit of late night shopping.  It was almost Christmas, and he kept telling himself that Martha was sure to have visitors, or to be visiting herself.  That there was no way she was alone on a night like this. 

And yet he was going to her anyway, on the off chance that she was.  On the off chance that she wanted someone.  On the off chance that someone was him. 

Nothing about the way she acted around him made him think she had changed her mind or lost interest since he decided to stay, but...

If Martha had trouble letting go of things, John had trouble hanging on to them.  He was so used to getting burned, turned away, discarded when he was no longer useful, and he had learned that that was considerably easier to stomach if you let it happen.  If you didn’t try to fight.  But Martha... she made him want to fight. 

She brought to mind a reversal, if that was possible, of the myth of Hades and Persephone.  Her above ground, in the light and the sun, making things grow, making things better.  Him below in the dark and the cold, in the shadow of death.  And then she saw him, and something made her want to reach down and pull him up so that he could be with her on the surface.  So that he could sit in her garden with bright-stained lips and let his bones get warm. 

Maybe it was a mistake to get used to that feeling.  Maybe he would be cast down eventually anyway.  But with her... he just couldn’t help it. 

He made his purchases and headed to her house.  She had no decorations up that he could see, and the place looked quiet- but there were lights on inside, so he took a breath, passed the bag he was holding from hand to hand, and knocked on the door.

There were footsteps, and then- “If I hear carols when I open this door, I’m not going to be at all happy.”

“No promises,” he said.  “I've been told I’m not a bad singer.”

“John?”  She sounded surprised, but not unhappy.  She threw the door open, looking more confused than anything.  He just waited as she looked at him.  She wore an oversized sweater, clearly very old, but she looked lovely all the same- especially as her confusion melted into a smile.  She shook herself and opened the door a little more.  "Sorry.  Come in."    

"Thanks."  

Her place was more familiar to him now, not least because it reminded him so much of his own.  When he went through to the kitchen he wasn't surprised by the takeaway cartons littered across the counter, or the bottle and glass of wine.  And there was just the one glass. 

Her face was a little flushed as she settled beside him.  "Are you hungry?" she asked.  "I only just ordered all this."

His hand was close enough to one of the cartons to feel its warmth.  "I could eat."

She nodded and reached into the cupboard, bringing down plates and another glass.  "Wine?"

"Please."  He set down his bag, getting it open.  "I... bought a few things."  Even though she was alone, even though she wouldn't be pouring him wine or offering him dinner unless she wanted him to stay, it was still awkward.  He could handle a little awkwardness, though.  He had run away when she needed him enough to last a lifetime; he wasn't going to anymore.  He wasn't going to be one more person who let her down.  "I wasn't sure what you liked," he said, producing a few sweets. 

Among them was a pomegranate, its seeds such a bright red when he cut into it.  The significance wouldn't exist anywhere outside him own mind, but it would be there all the same.  Proof that he was... willingly captured this time, and intended to stay that way.  With her.  

She smiled as she handed him things to carry to her table, and he smiled back.  Just then there wasn't anywhere he would rather be.    

**Author's Note:**

> Come see me on [tumblr](http://potentiality-26.tumblr.com).


End file.
